Ei Incumbit Probatio
by Courtanie
Summary: For ten years, Kyle has grown accustomed to Kenny's deaths, having every step he takes figured out to the point of routine, wading through everyone's repeated mourning until Kenny is back and he's waiting to do it all over again. However, when Kenny doesn't come back as scheduled, all eyes are shifting towards the man who seemed a bit too blasé at his husband's funeral.
1. Chapter 1

Kenny's first funeral was when he was five years old.

He remembered watching from Heaven at all the people gathered to sit and stare at his closed casket. His legs swung from the side of a cloud, not sure what situation he was in and just wanting to know why everyone was crying. An angel had been at his side, an angel of high standing from what he could tell, a soft fatherly voice trying to explain to him what had happened, but to not worry, things seemed _different_ for him. He'd only taken slight note of what had been said, too preoccupied watching the show below in utter befuddlement. His mother had been hysterical, his father and older brother trying to hide their sniffles and remain sitting tall, taking turns holding his infant sister as she grew increasingly fussy during the service.

He remembered seeing his three best friends at the front row with their own parents, all of them too young to comprehend the ramifications, squirming in their uncomfortable, starched suits and looking around aimlessly more often than not. Well. Two of them at least.

Their mothers had all been ridiculously overprotective of their boys, each of them holding their sons on their laps as they were reminded that life can be taken at any time, that a rogue car was always right around the corner if they weren't protecting their babies. Stan had wriggled on his mother's lap, impatient and wanting to know when they could go play. All the kids were there, after all, so there was _some_ prospect of good times to be had. Cartman merely whined that he wanted to go home, that he was missing quality TV time for _Kenny_ of all people, not quite understanding why he was such a big deal all of a sudden.

Kyle, though. Kyle just stared straight ahead at the elongated, polished oaken box, his mind just starting to grasp at the beginnings of its future analytical state. He'd asked his mom what was happening, why Kenny wasn't here but everyone was talking about him. Through empathetic tears, unable to quite explain to her little boy the finality of death, she'd only told him that Kenny was a special boy, and he had to go somewhere _very_ special. Kyle had accepted this with a nod, a small grunt as she held him tighter and dotingly patted his head. Kenny had a special fondness for the expression on five-year-old Kyle's face that he always recalled when things felt pointless, when death took the occasional toll on his psyche. That look of the beginnings of understanding, but the "naïve" hope that it meant that Kenny would make his triumphant return from wherever it was he was visiting, the promise of future playdates and childhood shenanigans lingering on the glowing horizon.

He'd been correct, but he'd never known it at the time.

Kyle didn't remember that first funeral. Or the next one. Or the following.

In fact, he didn't remember a single damn one until they were eighteen. A service following only days after Kenny had been taken from _him_ in particular. No one else had seen him go, Kenny hovering over him silhouetted in the moonlight as thin fingers traced from the half-risen lump of faded Denver Nugget pajama bottoms up Kyle's ribcage, spreading over his chest and feeling his rapid, nervous heartbeat. Trembling lips had leaned down, leaving a wet trail over his breastbone, moving up, up, up until falling so naturally onto shaking lips. Hands at the time were still in the new stages of intimate knowledge of one another, still playing that thin line delicately to keep the string from snapping, both of them knowing they were tottering with a dangerous game. No one had known about them as of then, Kyle too terrified of coming out to his parents and Stan at last after playing it off as just not having the time for dating for so long. Kenny was more worried that word of him messing around with the eldest _Broflovski_ boy would have his father, a longtime jealous monster of the other family's affluence, spiraling into a rage and put Kyle into a risk of having a whisky bottle smashed over his skull.

So that night, atop Kenny's worn mattress with the deceptive posters of half-naked women scattered along his wall cloaked in darkness, they'd quietly led into their secretive routine. Heavy petting and longing touches for more than what they had with one another, both of them captured in the mindset that this was temporary, that the other felt they were just a fix for now until more could be found. But at that point, they were all right with the way it was, willing to just relish in the affection and pretend it was _already_ more, a foolish custom they'd been playing with for months before it all came to a head.

More specifically, Kenny's head.

Kyle still didn't know where it came from, and knew he never would. Since then he'd theorized it was a burnt-out meteor, set on a straight course towards his unfortunate then-fling. A crash through the window hadn't finished echoing out as Kenny suddenly stopped his kissing, Kyle feeling a burning against the back of his left hand as it remained wrapped in blonde hair. He'd pulled back with a hiss, hand coming down and seeing blood trailing down the appendage in the pale lighting through parted curtains. He'd blinked at the open wound, feeling where the shard of stone had sliced through him and looking up, mouth opening to ask what'd happened before he'd fallen silent, breath caught in panic as Kenny collapsed on top of him. He couldn't move, mouth trembling at Kenny's still head rolling into the crook of his neck, head wound leaking down over him, bathing him in a sea of red. He'd been terrified, unable to shove him off as it trickled down into his own wound, feeling Kenny's lost life seeping into him as he laid trapped half-naked underneath.

Everything in that moment culminated into nothing but a pure, unbridled terror, screaming for someone to get into Kenny's room, unable to push the heavier boy off of him, too frozen to worm out his pinned arm from between their stomachs. Kenny's family had rushed into the room, turning on the overhead light with the two burnt-out bulbs and blinding Kyle as they all screamed at the bloodied mess. Karen and Carol were forced out of the room, Kenny's brother and father rushing over and prying the corpse off of him, Kyle wriggling and rolling over gracelessly to fall face-first onto the thinly-carpeted floor by Stuart's feet. He'd scrambled onto his knees, backing away as they assessed the situation, Kevin finding the fly-away rock at once lying under a dent in the far wall.

Kyle was hyperventilating at that point, feeling Kenny's blood all over his face and trailing down the right side of his body. Stuart had turned to look at him cowering, own chest heaving with baffled emotions before catching the deep purple marks on the clean side of his neck and chest. A quick glance towards his fallen son being held by his eldest showed matching marks, his tumultuous feelings redirecting into rage towards the scared boy curled up on the floor. Kyle could vividly recall Kevin catching the shift in demeanor, trying to move and intercept, yelling for Kyle to get up and fucking run before he was grabbed by the wrist and hauled onto his feet, drunken spittle flying against him as he was screamed at. It was horrible how clarifying the words still were even years later, Stuart delusional enough to dismiss the freak accident and scream that it was _Kyle's_ fault, that if Kenny hadn't been busy being a _fag_ with a _rich, spoiled piece of shit_ , he'd still be alive.

Kyle hadn't even been able to argue, the situation finally sinking down onto him and sending him into tears, barely noticing Stuart slamming him back into the wall time and again demanding meaningless answers. How long he'd been _tricking_ his child, if he was _paying_ him just for this kind of attention, if he was happy for _what he'd caused_. Kyle had just cried, still bleeding and feeling Kenny's own blood beginning to dry into sticky pools against his skin, yelping only as he was finally hit across the face and fell back onto the floor, Kevin trying to hold back his father and yelling that Kenny was more important than whatever he and Kyle had been up to. But, Pabst has a _strange_ power of redirecting from the things that matter, Stuart shoving his eldest son away and grabbing Kyle by the hair, dragging him out of Kenny's room and through their house past Carol and Karen's shaking, bawling forms.

Kyle could still feel the bitter bite of snow against his bare feet as he was walked out of the house and down the sidewalk, forced over the railroad tracks towards his own darkened home. He'd began endlessly blathering, barely making sense in the overwhelming circumstance. Stuart had beat against his front door, holding Kyle still as he tried to squirm away, realizing all at once the ramifications he was facing once that door was opened. It'd creaked open to all three members of his family staring at the two of them in shock.

His mother had just said his name, blinking at the blood and the fear on his face, still trying to wake up from the impromptu interruption.

"Tell yer piece of shit son to keep his fuckin' dick to himself so he don't kill someone _else_ ," Stuart had snapped, throwing Kyle forward into his house, knocking down his younger brother in the process. Kyle never forgot that look on the man's face as he looked back up from the floor, that _hatred_. That need for his blood. Gerald had demanded to know what he was talking about, Stuart launching into a tirade about the boys, completely _ignoring_ how his youngest son was dead, focusing instead on the telltale marks on Kyle's neck and the compromising position he'd been found in.

Ike had moved to help Kyle back onto his feet, he and his mother flanking him as Gerald cut off Stuart and told him to go take care of what was happening in his own home, shutting him out and letting their house fall into a burdened silence. Sheila had been uncharacteristically lost for words, merely leading Kyle into the kitchen and sitting him down at the table, busying herself with finding rags to clean his bloodied face and a first-aid kit for his dripping hand. The questions had started slowly, each member of his family taking turns putting together the puzzle that Stuart had thrown at them. Kyle had only nodded and shook his head in response, unable to speak, still seeing the moonlit shadows of Kenny's deadened face, the blood trickling down the sides of his head, dark and thick as ganache.

It'd built and built as Sheila finished wrapping up his gashed hand, voice tinging with beginning disappointment and Kyle flinching, expecting her to fall into the same fury Stuart had shown him. Instead, he was told that she didn't know _why_ he'd hidden it from them, but she was sure he had a good reason. She'd pet his hair in a way that felt sickeningly familiar, brought a strange twinge to Kyle's already clenched chest. She merely told him that at least Kenny was happy before he left, that _he_ was the one who'd done that. And how Kenny was a special boy, going to a special place.

He didn't know why at the time, but that phrase had all but broken him, his cleaned head falling forward onto his mother's shoulder as he sobbed, her helpless petting and murmurs of comfort barely reaching him. He'd never felt so lost.

He was plagued with nightmares in the few days following, seeing death after death of Kenny, each time waking up with a gasp and his cut hand throbbing incessantly. He couldn't place it, his head fuzzy, trying to fill in holes, replace memories with different ones. He was sick and weak in the three days between what had happened and Kenny's funeral. Stan stayed with him all throughout, still taking in the brunt of both the loss and learning what his best friend had been up to, not once wavering from his side as he tried to talk Kyle down. Tried to tell him that it was just how he processed grief.

Kyle, however, knew grief. He had no _idea_ what it was Kenny was putting him through.

He couldn't eat, couldn't see anything without Kenny lingering in his peripheral. He just heard scream after scream, saw gallons of blood anytime he closed his eyes. On the second day, he'd found himself staring at nothing, murmuring _"you bastards"_ time and time again, unable to pinpoint _why_ that was all he could think. Stan couldn't understand what Kyle was going through either, opting to just rub his shoulder as he muttered to himself and kept his sight locked hazily on the wall.

Of all people, it was Cartman that broke him from his trance. He'd meandered into his room after Stan had texted him about the situation, taking one look at the disheveled boy on the bed and scoffing. With a spiteful tone, his own eyes red and voice tainted with exhaustion, he'd asked a simple "What, were you fags in love or something?"

Kyle's mumbling had stopped, words trapped as he was unable to answer the question. He didn't know. And he wouldn't know until a day later, the day after what Kyle now considered to be the first funeral he'd witnessed. Sitting there had been surreal, nothing feeling tangible as he watched Kenny lowered into the earth, felt Stuart's scathing glare from the other side of the casket. He couldn't explain it, something about the situation not having the finality everyone else seemed to experience. Stan sobbed at his side, Cartman stamping his foot now and again from the other end, his grief redirecting into bursts of temper tantrums. Kyle remained caught in the middle, feelings unable to rearrange themselves into a meaningful form. He'd wondered if he was broken.

Instead, he found himself led up to the dirt hole by Karen, her fingers wrapped and trembling around his starched sleeve as they both stared into the nothingness, each throwing a handful of dirt. Kyle watched the dust splashing around the fresh pink carnations, tinging the purity, marring the meaning. They stayed staring as the remaining mourners followed their lead, each taking a handful of earth and tossing it down into the pit. Their hands had clasped around one another's in comfort, neither of them quite knowing how to approach just what it was they were suffering through. As the mourners backed away, only Kenny's family and Kyle remained. Kyle tried to back away from them, Karen firmly keeping him in place at her side, Kyle doing all he could to avoid Stuart's raging stare for being where he didn't belong. Kevin had come to his other side, patting his shoulder a few times, and Kyle felt sick. It should've been the other way around. He should have been comforting _them_.

The five surrounding the gravesite had been handed white roses, Kyle's nose scrunching as a lifelong allergy tried to rear its ugly head in the inappropriate moment. "He really liked you," Karen had murmured seemingly out of nowhere, twirling her rose in her fingers. "He told us."

Kyle hadn't been able to breathe, looking between both siblings as they watched his reaction, the three of them caught up to the situation that the boys had avoided. Regret and anguish collapsed on top of Kyle's already weakened state, fingers clutching around the stem of his rose, knuckles turning a blaring white. The first voluntary words finally croaked out of him since the incident, voice cracking at a meek "I really liked him, too." They'd moved in closer with one another, tossing down their roses one at a time, and Kyle had wished his own had been colored red.

He had spent the rest of that day by himself, refusing anyone trying to come in and comfort him, finally allowing himself to break. He'd cried for hours, screaming into his pillow about how unfair it was, how he'd wasted so many fucking months. How maybe, just maybe, if he'd told his family, they would've been at _his_ house, Kenny would have lived instead of them just banking on Kenny's parents being too drunk to hear them. That night, passed out from crying, he dreamt of feathers bathed in blood, red roses dripping onto his own torn fingertips. He couldn't smell the fluid surrounding him, only the clean scent of freshly fallen snow. It crunched beneath his feet as he walked with a bouquet, finding a golden-haired angel waiting for him under a broken tree. He'd fallen to his knees and bawled, Kenny's slender hands cupping his chin and giving him an easygoing smile, blue eyes glittering in the luminescence of his ethereal halo.

He'd murmured something to him that Kyle couldn't quite understand, lips captured and his being sinking against the heavenly form, the snow no longer crunching beneath him and the roses no longer melting. Instead, the world reset. His footprints raised back to make the ice virgin yet again. The shattered tree regrew its fallen limbs, sprouting with colorful buds that stood out starkly in the winter wasteland. Kyle barely took note of it, too lost in the comfort, the familiarity of Kenny's tongue, his scent overpowering the snow with tinges of earth, of freshly grown plants and tilled soil. He was the taste of spring, of revival. Of hope.

Kyle apologized against him, not sure what it was he was apologizing _for_. The options were numerous, but Kenny seemed to know exactly what it was he meant, kissing him again and holding him. They stayed clutched together, Kenny melting away the snow and unveiling the grass waiting so patiently beneath their feet. Another kiss lingered between them, Kenny pulling away just enough for the skin of their lips to still feel the heat of one another, breathing out a simple _"Wait"._ Kyle had woken up with a gasp hearing his voice, hand throbbing once more as he stared into the darkness of his ceiling, hearing the bare snowfall on the tree outside his window.

But on the fourth day, he couldn't hear anything.

At 2:24 in the afternoon, the world turned to ashes and rose again from the cinders, reality turned on its head as his mother called up the stairs, informing him that _Kenneth_ was there. He'd been furious and brokenhearted, about to stomp down the stairs and demand to know if that's what she called a _joke_. But then, he'd stopped in his tracks as his door flung open, couldn't see anything but the blonde head appearing in his doorway with a nonchalant grin and a cheesy wink. He'd simply stepped inside and leaned against the door as he closed it, asking, "Well, well, what've you been up to this fine day? Gettin' all hot thinkin' 'bout me?"

Kyle's mouth opened to scream, but the sound was lost, falling back onto his floor and scrambling away from him as Kenny watched in shock. Kyle had looked for feathers tainted red, fingers aching as they scratched against his carpet, trying to hold onto the ground for fear of everything collapsing as his body lurched. He had grabbed his wastebasket and vomited as fears grew too heightened to handle, Kenny rushing over and rubbing his back.

Finally pulling back up for a breath, Kyle blindly fumbled around on top of his nightstand for the water bottle his mother had left outside his door that morning, Kenny snagging it and helping him take a few long, cold gulps to regain some sense of stability. Kyle had ripped back from him, the boys watching each other with wide, baffled eyes. _"How_?" he'd finally broken.

Kenny had looked around a bit and blinked. "Uh… how what?" Kyle moved onto his knees, grabbing Kenny's head and turning it from side to side, staring at the clean, reformed skin, moving back locks of hair looking for a wound. Kenny had just allowed whatever it was he was doing with nothing more than a questioning grunt at frantic fingers raking through his hair. His eyes had drifted to the bandage over his hand and narrowed his eyes. "Ky. What happened to your hand?"

Kyle had stopped, pulling back slowly and looking at the wrapping himself. He'd gulped, moving to unravel the gauze, both of them watching his deep, dried wound coming out into the air. Kyle took a shaking breath, staring at it as Kenny went into full-blown panic, grasping his hand and turning it, grabbing his water bottle and a roll of paper towels Kyle kept for his compulsive cleaning days and trying to rub off the flaking blood. He'd rambled, pleading to know what'd happened, Kyle watching his fears unfolding and shaking his head slowly.

"Where's yours?" he'd whispered, Kenny stopping in his tracks and looking up at him, silent as he waited for more elaboration. "Your… y-your wounds… the rock… where are they?"

Kenny had dropped his hand, his own palm coming up over his mouth and tears welling at once. Kyle couldn't comprehend what was happening, never used to seeing Kenny looking like that. "What are you talking about?" he'd forced himself to steady out his voice, though Kyle could hear how his breathing tremored, as though something inside him was bubbling up with fervor.

"…You died," he whispered again, wounded hand reaching up and touching his cheek, unsure if he was caught in another dream or not, but wanting to dismiss the notion. "I was there… a-and the funeral… and… and…" he choked on his words, fingers curling against his face as tears leaked down Kenny's cheeks, a mismatching smile, bright as a halo Kyle had noted, spreading across his face.

"You remember," he'd whispered back, cupping Kyle's own face, lips shaking in their upturned state. "Holy shit."

Kyle had been lost, wandering through a field of haze as a thumb stroked over his cheek, eyes blearing before he finally broke again, clutching around Kenny and forcing him forward so he could hide in his neck and cry. Kenny wasn't sure how to handle the moment, never expecting it to come to light. He'd just leaned back against Kyle's bed, holding him between his legs and petting his hair, letting him get it all out as he contained his own tap-dancing glee for his sake. He'd quietly told him how it'd been happening since they were five, how no one ever remembered, how it was nothing to worry about, that he'd _always_ be back.

Even years later, Kyle still didn't know how, but his soothing explanation and Kyle's bawling had all hit a hard stop with a searing kiss, marking him with a joy that he had never shed. He'd blindly locked his door, still trapped on Kenny's lips, and they'd fallen onto his bed. For the first time, in his rush of grief subsiding and a budding existential crisis, he got every bit of Kenny, relishing in the _life_ that he exuded. Kenny still laughed about it, teasing Kyle that it was always going to be the power of his dick that healed all ailments.

Ten years down the line with countless falls into one another and matching rings secured on their fingers, he couldn't exactly argue.

Even now, as he stood in the warmth of early fall watching that coffin lower into the earth with nothing more than a sigh through his lips, he knew what was around the corner. A day or two more where he needed to be everyone else's rock. He'd take Karen, Carol, and Kevin into his and Kenny's home tonight for dinner, the four of them reminiscing about Kenny. He'd lead them out and see Stuart waiting in the truck for them, that same glare still set on his face towards his son's widower. Then he'd lie around the house, taking his work-given grieving days and catching up on housework and bills, prepping one of Kenny's favorite larger meals for his return and letting it stew in its flavors for however long it took for him to walk out of their bedroom door.

He'd already given the eulogy he'd memorized after so many times of suffering through it, dealt with everyone patting his back and telling him how 'strong' he was to keep from sobbing during his speech. Stone-faced and nothing more than tired, he'd wade through relatives of Kenny's and a few of his own, dealing with their friends and comforting them time and again as they cried and offered, _pleaded,_ to take Kyle in for a few days. " _So you don't have to go home to an empty house,"_ they'd claim. He had the excuse of their dog and cat to lean on to get out of that mess, plus the ever-popular _"I can't accept it until I face it"._

The phone calls wouldn't cease, not until Kenny was back. Not until the world hit its reset button just for him, leaving only Kyle as the anomaly as he'd casually greet his reentrance before launching into a spiel on something mundane. It'd become their pattern, and both of them were more than happy to keep within its steps if it meant they still had each other at the end of Kenny's 'trips'. Kyle would never tell himself that the deaths didn't bother him, having seen his husband go in horrific ways more often than he would've expected. But the waiting didn't. Not anymore. Sometimes it irked him when something came up, and sometimes the funerals would be switched up in the slightest, Kyle forgetting to inform a particular family member about his passing and having to deal with the fallout.

Only a handful of times had Kyle truly been angry at Kenny for going, only when the man's father would show up drunk and berate Kyle in front of everyone. Scream at him for being what killed his son and more than once punching him in the midst of the wake. Kenny had suggested not having actual funerals anymore, keeping Stuart away as they did for all other occasions, and Kyle had waved that off. After all, he'd remind him solemnly, one of those times was gonna be the last one. And he'd never forgive himself if that was the one that only had him in attendance. The money spent was always replenished, memories were wiped, grief was stripped away.

To Kyle, after so long, after _countless_ funerals, it was nothing more than routine.

He shook himself into attention as a hand gripped the top of his arm, looking over to see Karen sobbing against him and he hugged around her shoulders. It did break his heart to an extent seeing her breaking down so often, the girl so close to Kenny and therefore intertwined so deeply in his life, they were fairly close for just being siblings by law. He sighed, watching mourners tossing in their dirt, most stopping to pat his shoulder before shuffling back to stand on the outskirts of the gravesite, observing the family gathered around the plot staring into the abyss.

Kyle tucked curls behind his ear, counting down in his head until the inevitable broken sob from Kenny's mother, looking up to see those angry eyes of his father watching him and shrinking into himself a bit. Didn't matter how many years, didn't matter how many attempts to get along with Stuart that he made, he was just always going to be hated by the man. He supposed it meant little. Eventually the drunkard's liver would give out, he reasoned bitterly. He looked up at Kevin as he stepped up beside him, that same hand falling onto his shoulder as the three who meant most to the man in the wooden box stared down at him. Matte black, just as Kenny had requested when Kyle had one day asked him if he wanted anything specific so he could just breeze through the process when it rolled around. Kyle was probably the funeral director's favorite customer. Knew exactly what he wanted, got through the meeting without so much as a sniffle, handed him a check, and went about his business.

Kyle glanced up at the priest handing him a rose, taking it with delicate fingers, grimacing at the throbbing scar still embedded deep in his left hand as he pulled it back towards himself. He twirled the flower a bit, eyes lingering with a somberness against the stark red petals. He'd started getting red as soon as his last name had McCormick tacked onto the end. It'd been the only change to the ceremony he'd experienced, the first funeral he'd pushed through as a married man bringing him to tears for the first time in a _long_ time. That was the only time he'd not just tolerated the nonstop comfort, but _needed it_. And everyone was more than happy to supply his needs. After all, it was only days after they'd gotten back from their honeymoon. He was a newlywed without his spouse already, it was a tragedy that none of them could wrap their heads around.

But Kyle knew better, he knew he'd be back with Kenny in a matter of days, but it was that fucking rose. That rose that showed him that even after six years of everything staying the exact same, things could still change. One day might finally be that last day. One day might be the last check he signed for a deposit on a coffin, the last conversation with the priest and dealing with that condescending talk of "Well you're Jewish so you may not understand how we do things". He wondered if he'd ever miss that, miss the monotony and the routine. He'd never miss it as much as his husband, but he couldn't imagine that he wouldn't be longing for the procedure once again. Because if he had that to still remember just how everything was to go, it meant that he'd gotten Kenny back, if only temporarily.

As per the usual, Kyle waited for the others to toss in their flowers, still staring at the petals and heaving a sigh. A quiet, internal prayer echoed within his weary state, same as always, telling Kenny to hurry home. He let his rose fall from his hand, crashing down atop the others and shaking their petals, knowing well enough Stuart hated to see that. Hated that Kyle _knew_ he held more weight than the others to Kenny, as much as he adored Karen and got along with Kevin. Kyle's green eyes raised, met the man's glare point for point before straightening back up with the closing of the final prayer.

He, Karen, and Kevin huddled close to one another, Kyle letting both of them hide in his shoulder and patting their backs. What came next was no picnic, either. Some of the mourners would disperse, but most would linger at the cars, finding Kyle and expressing their sorrow, fumbling over words and trying to think of the right things to say. Kyle had mastered the art of the soft, saddened smile, had perfected the correct way to thank them for their kind words. All the while, however, he would just be tired.

He would be tired and waiting until he could go home. Dinner for four was in the crockpot, and he was more than prepared with Kenny's family's favorite stories of him so they would be able to leave with that same sad smile on their own faces and bid him a goodnight and a promise to call him in the morning. He would wave them off, feed the cat and let the dog out before finally allowing himself to collapse in bed, the only place he wanted to be in this time of waiting. Where he would smell freshly fallen snow and bathe in the blood of roses. Where Kenny would be waiting to see him with wide, celestial wings and that glowing, loving smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Doing the math, Kyle had discovered that he worked only about 160 days a year. Taking out paid holidays, his vacation, weekends, and accounting a rough estimate of all the days Kenny was dead and he was given his grieving periods, it nearly made him feel _lazy_. Most of his time spent at home was filled with cleaning and cooking to keep himself preoccupied before settling down at his computer and working from home. Time and again he'd gotten a call from his boss, voicing concerns for his working in such a tumultuous time. He'd sit there rolling his eyes, forcing his voice to quiet down into a meek tone and insisting that "staying busy was the only way he could keep himself from falling apart". Which, of course, was met with a sympathetic hum and having to promise not to overdo himself, that work could come later. He'd give a little sniffle and thank the woman for her kindness before hanging up and chomping down on one of his peanut butter cookies.

He had to wonder if he was eventually going to start gaining weight from Kenny's trips, finding himself scarfing down sugary treats for days that he made from his boredom. As soon as Kenny got back, he'd have them both dressed in workout clothes going for a run to keep his metabolism from shutting down, Kenny trailing behind him the entire time whining that he'd just been dead, that he wanted cookies, too. His coming back was almost as routine as his being gone, Kyle always turning back and shrugging, telling him fine, he'd make him cookies, but that'd be the only thing his mouth got to touch if he didn't keep up with his set pace. Miraculously, the living dead would always find his speed with such a threat, running alongside him and pinching his ass, laughing as Kyle swatted at his wandering hands. Kyle loved their runs, taking it as his definitive proof that his husband was back again, that he could sweat and pant and be his typical jovial self once more.

Plus, getting to come home with both of them already sweating as they dove into their next activity had certainly never deterred them.

But, for now, he could only dream of what was waiting for him, his time now dedicated to the figures in front of him as he scrolled through, eyes sharply scanning for hints of patterns in the company numbers. After all, it's what Kenny had showed him best: He was fantastic at analyzing trends and buckling them down into a predictable fashion, could guide his company in the direction it was best suited for. It was tiresome and boring, but it paid the bills and he only had to work it roughly 40% of the year. He supposed he couldn't complain about it _too_ much.

A knock on the front door stole his attention, the dog napping beside him stumbling onto his feet and barking loudly at it, Kyle rolling his eyes. "Val. Shut the fuck up," he flicked his nose, the dog huffing and quieting his barks, following Kyle to the door as he pried it open to the mailman looking at him with drooping eyes. He practically thrust a large clasp envelope in his face with his and Kenny's names printed on the line, Kyle taking it with a stack of other deliveries, looking down at the electronic scanner in front of him.

The man impatiently waved a stylus and cleared his throat. "Sign?"

Kyle scoffed, setting the mail aside and taking the device to do so. "You know, half of this mail is sympathy cards."

"Oh?" he asked, bored and impatient as Kyle took forever with his lengthy last name.

"Yeah. I just lost my husband. So, thanks for your gleaming customer service. I'll be sure to let the post office know what a shining star you are in my hour of grief," he drawled.

He shrugged, "Sorry, Man. But it's a government job, I really don't care."

Kyle handed him back the device, staring at him with an air of skepticism. "You don't happen to be related to anyone named Craig… right?"

"Uh… not to my knowledge?"

"Oh thank god, he's not breeding," Kyle muttered, slamming the door shut in his face and turning his attention to the stack on his side table. He rolled his eyes at the dog running to the window and hopping on the chair in front of it, watching the retreating man with a low growl and the vicious glare that only a Rottweiler could pull off. Kenny had _insisted_ on getting him from the shelter two years beforehand, a break-in while they were sleeping putting him into a perpetual panic. Kyle had protested that getting themselves unneeded protection was ridiculous, Kenny just reminding him time and again that he'd died from them, that Kyle could've so _easily_ been their next target. Kyle had to help him recall that he'd died because they'd shoved him so they could make a break for it and he'd crashed into the coffee table, his temple taking the brunt of the fall. Not from _actual_ malicious intent. Nonetheless, after an ensuing five-hour debate and Kenny putting on a show over his heightened fear for Kyle's safety, they'd applied for ownership of Valefor and taken him home the next week.

Somehow, while Kyle's back was turned with vaccination paperwork, Kenny had snuck off and gotten a kitten, popping him under Kyle's nose and booping them together with a grin. He was all _alone_ , Kenny had whined, rubbing the kitten along Kyle's cheek. He needed fathers and a big, strong doggie to protect him. And after all, he was only twenty dollars since they'd paid full price for Valefor. Kyle still didn't know how, but their family had doubled in size that day, Kenny driving with the kitten he'd promptly dubbed Doodle on his lap while Valefor clambered from the backseat of the truck into Kyle's.

He couldn't say he minded, both of them finding their way into Kyle's good graces in a matter of hours after Valefor snuffed in Kenny's face after a horrific pun and Doodle made himself a nice, cozy nest by clawing the shit out of his husband's thigh. Besides, they filled the void that Kenny tended to leave him with, both of them able to see how lonely Kyle felt and sandwiching him on the bed when the still night rolled around. Kyle often wondered if the sixth sense people mentioned animals having could involve their situation as well. They never tried to get onto the bed if Kenny was alive, even if one of them went off early. No, they saved it _just_ for when Kyle needed some form of warmth, Val always nestled back-to-back with him and Doodle curled up atop his right arm, purring away until Kyle eventually drifted off to sleep. He'd told Kenny about it one day upon his return, Kenny just grinning cheekily and telling him that he had told the both of them to take good care of him whenever he was gone, that he must have the power to communicate with man _or_ beast. Kyle had just rolled his eyes, but a part of him couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to that, if Kenny's anomalous soul somehow extended into other realms of 'power' as well.

He supposed it didn't truly matter. Either way, he always had _someone_ there for him, human or not.

Kyle snagged the pile of envelopes, tossing hand-addressed sympathy cards off into a basket on the coffee table as he sat on the couch and continued to sort. He clicked his tongue as he passed bill after card after ad after bill, finally hitting the bottom large envelope with _'IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS ENCLOSED'_ stamped in bright red across the front. He glanced at the return address, cocking his head at Denver location printed and carefully unfolding the brass tab to slip open the package. He looked over at Doodle hopping onto the arm of the couch, long grey fur spattered with seemingly directionless black stripes. Kenny had been beyond ecstatic at Kyle agreeing with the impromptu name, pointing out the markings and proclaiming he looked like someone took a calligraphy brush and scribbled all over him. Kyle loved that, how Kenny managed to relate anything he found to something simple with the enthusiasm of a child.

He sighed, nestling back into the cushions as Val hopped up next to him and shifted and rolled to get comfortable, Doodle mindlessly yowling at Kyle for attention. He glared at him, "Dude. Shut up, I'm busy. Gimme a few minutes." Doodle meowed again before clambering over his lap, promptly hopping onto Val's side and plopping down, the dog falling still at once with the visitor.

Kyle pulled out a stack of papers secured with a binder clip, putting the folder aside and glancing over the top, eyes widening at the front page reading _'Colorado Foster Care and Adoption'_. He quickly flipped to the next page, turning the stack to read the landscaped certificate and breaking into a wide smile at the text waiting for him.

' _This document certifies Mr. Kenneth Broflovski-McCormick and Mr. Kyle Broflovski-McCormick to be licensed to board but not to exceed [two] full-time children under the legal custody of the State of Colorado.'_

He let out a sound of joy, both pets looking up at him and blinking at the strange, high-pitched squeal. He bit down on his knuckle, smile bright enough to blind a passerby. It'd taken so goddamn long. So _long_ for them to get through this goddamn licensing process. Thirty hours of classes, god knew _how_ many meetings upstate with the board. Six months of home visits that had Kyle in a blind panic whenever Kenny wasn't there, having to bluff his way through a pathetic story time and again of Karen being sick so Kenny went to take care of her. Because he was so loving and attentive. Because he'd take care of _any unfortunate soul_ that he happened to be close to.

They'd sat through meeting after meeting of scrutiny, Kenny's parents' alcoholic tendencies and criminal record following him all the way, bearing down on them as a potential no-go for their plan. Kyle's own health reared its head as a potential deal breaker as well. After all, older foster kids _could_ have the probability of bad habits, and his diabetic needs required needles to be in their house and his anxiety medication had a high rate of addiction. Kenny's lack of a college education, Kyle's biweekly trips to a therapist, Valefor's breed. Every single thing they never thought twice about suddenly seemed so _daunting_. It'd nearly put them both through a depressive spell, wondering as they were picked apart with a fine-toothed comb if they were awful people, if being parents of any sort would be a disaster waiting to happen.

But they wanted this. They'd wanted it since they were twenty-two and the topic of marriage was making its shy entrance into their conversations as Kyle was wrapping up his Bachelor's. But they'd wait, they'd told themselves, even after they had engagement rings on their fingers and were moving into their first apartment together. They'd wait until they were in a house, until they were financially stable. They were going to be _adults about it_.

For five agonizing years they waded through it all, finally putting down their first payment on a small three-bedroom house and going straight to the foster care site to see what they had to do. It'd taken over a year at this point as they carefully meandered about the system, having to learn how to calm the other down from the occasional phone call that didn't seem very promising. But through it all, they staved through, Kenny absolutely determined to keep kids out of the shitty foster homes he himself had occasionally suffered through in his youth. Kyle just wanted Kenny to be happy, and with his own brother coming into his life via adoption, he had more than a favorable bias in that direction. It was perfect, despite the absolute migraine it was to make it through it all.

And all the proof was in his fingers. A lovely new license with both their names, full legal permission granted to begin the search for their perfect fit. Kyle grinned at the wonderful indication for _two_ kids to be able to come into their home. They'd been told not to get their hopes awfully high for more than one if they were granted any permissions when they'd applied for up to two, that it all boiled down to their income and their performance within the home study. Apparently they'd passed it all with flying colors, a shaking breath of relief rattling through Kyle's elated chest.

He couldn't stop staring at their names so neatly printed, heart pounding and lip grating in excitement between his teeth. It was all so _wonderful_. And the only thing he could possibly think to make it _more_ wonderful…

He paused, head whipping around at the sound of their bedroom door opening. He glanced at the clock and smiled. 4:19. Not too awful. He hopped up off the couch with the dog and cat, Val running around the sofa and jumping at the blonde stepping into the room. Kenny snorted, listlessly batting off his excited panting and patting his head. Kyle put the stack down onto the coffee table, taking the license from the top and hiding it behind his back, unable to conceal his grin.

Kenny smirked, cocking his brow at the far-too-excited expression on his face. "Well, well. Usually you're not _this_ happy to see me."

Kyle shrugged, "So I should be miserable, then?"

"Oh no, please," he held up his hand, lightly shoving Valefor aside and making way towards his husband, leaning down and giving him a long, searing kiss that still managed to make Kyle's lashes flutter from the intensity. "I _love_ when you miss me," he purred.

Kyle chuckled, giving him another quick peck, still grinning giddily and rocking back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet. "Sooooo."

"So?" Kenny tilted his head, the air of suspicion starting to take hold.

"So I have something _very_ special," he shrugged. "If you're interested."

Kenny looked up in thought, breaking into a lecherous smile. "New dildo you wanna test out?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You know, that's no way for a _father_ to talk," he teased, watching with a snort as Kenny's face fell into complete bewilderment. "No. I'm not pregnant," he answered before the question he could see building breeched. "But… I do have this," he revealed the paper from behind his back and held it up towards his face.

Kenny scanned over it, blinking and lips moving as he mumbled and read to himself before his jaw slowly dropped, reaching down and gripping the paper, staring at it closer. "We got it?" he whispered, looking up at Kyle for confirmation, who nodded in excitement. "HOLY SHIT WE GOT IT!" he shouted, moving forward and snatching him into a hug, shaking him back and forth and the both of them humming happily. "So what happens now?" he asked, kissing his cheek time and again, Kyle meeting every few with his lips.

"I think we make another meeting with the state to talk to the county. Then we go from there and get screened for whatever kid is best for us," he shrugged, smiling warmly at a hot, wet kiss pressing firmly against his neck.

Kenny made a small, squealing noise, nestling down into thick, red curls. "I can't believe we got it," he whispered.

"I know," he nodded in agreement, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist and sighing contentedly. He drummed his fingers along the small of Kenny's back, eyes creaking open to see Doodle and Valefor watching them, impatiently waiting for their own attention. "Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"We… we kind of forgot an important detail about all of this," he winced. That was a lie. They hadn't forgotten, they'd just danced around it, wanted to pretend that they were a _normal_ couple, unwilling to admit there might be a snag in their plans. A _major_ snag.

Kenny was silent for a moment, knowing from his tone just where this was going and he sighed. He began leading Kyle backwards, sitting them both down on the couch and moving them for Kyle to nestle into the crook of his arm. "Yeah," he said plainly, looking down at his shoes. "We should probably figure something out."

"Do we really want to put a kid through this?" he asked softly. "If they don't remember, then that's just time and again they have to work their way through it, ya know? Even if it's a kid we can't adopt I still think there'd be _some_ kind of emotional thing," he looked up at his thinking husband, who nodded a bit.

Ken bit his lip, "They'd forget when I came back."

"Yeah but… Ken, you're not _here_ when it happens," he scratched through his hair, staring down at their coffee table. "I've told you, it's a _mess_."

He laughed humorlessly, "Well. Death ain't a pretty thing."

"Everyone's emotions are everywhere and I've never had to handle a _kid's_ grief."

"Every parent has to at some point… right?"

"Time and again, though?" he looked up at him, gnawing on his tongue. "I'm not saying that it should be our main deciding factor, I'm honestly not. I'm just saying that since we actually have the ability to move forward, there's other things we need to figure out."

He waved him off, "Yeah, no. I get it, absolutely." He looked down at him and shrugged. "Ky, that decision has to come down to you. You're the one affected by it, Babe."

"I'd like your opinion, though," he said quietly, head tilting as Kenny kissed his ear.

"I think the benefits outweigh the bullshit," he murmured against him with another kiss. "A few rough days here and there before everything goes back to normal, ya know?" He backed up and cringed, "To be fair, you've been living this shit a _long_ time. You know what needs done when and whatnot."

"Throwing in a kid would kind of throw off my routine," he shrugged. "That's someone always in close proximity that I need to be careful around. And potentially someone who I'd have to pick up time and again and I can't send them to their own house away from me," he smirked sadly.

He nodded, scratching through his hair. "Well… then it comes down to how you think you can handle it," he winced. "Four, five day stints of working through that so shit can go back to normal or… no kids."

Kyle leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath. It was a question he'd revisited time and again, one that he _still_ wasn't entirely sure on. The first few months maybe wouldn't be so bad, any kid they brought into their home wouldn't be _that_ attached to Kenny. But what if things went _further_? Then he'd have to figure out how to pick up a child who'd not only lost their biological parents, but one of their new ones as well. Even if things reset, it'd be beyond hard to watch someone else suffering through it. He had enough problems watching Karen and Kevin breaking apart, he didn't know how well he could handle someone they were _raising._ "I'm sure I could figure something out," he murmured. "But… that's not the _only_ thing we need to figure out."

Kenny cocked his head, "What else?"

He gulped, twiddling with his fingers a bit. "Ken, if we're gonna do this… we need to get life insurance."

Kenny blinked, "Ky. I won't be gone long enough for any money-" he stopped as Kyle held up his hand and winced.

"Not… for _my_ benefit."

His face fell and he cleared his throat. "Can we not think about that?"

"We _have to_ ," he insisted, turning on the couch and sitting cross-legged staring at him. "Ken, I make most of our income," he reminded him. "If something happens to me, you can't afford the house and kids. They'd be put back in the system and you'd be looking for a roommate in some apartment complex. And not many are gonna take Valefor," he gestured to the dog lying on the carpet, who wagged his tail at the mention. "Look, we said we were gonna be adults about this. Well, adults prepare for the worst." He watched Kenny sinking at the notion and gripped his hand. "Ken, it's just a precaution. Chances are I'll be fucking fine, but _just in case_ , we _have_ to make sure you're taken care of."

He looked at him with a pout. "Can I just put you on lockdown instead?"

Kyle snorted, "You know how clumsy I am. I'd find a way to fuck up your plans with a rogue ice cube or some shit."

"I'll make you a bubble-wrap suit."

He smirked, "But you'd have to take it off me, too. You really willing to fight with that every time you want me naked?"

Ken pouted deeper, "Stop poking holes in my plans." He sighed, turning and grabbing around him, shoving his leg between Kyle's hip and the couch and pulling him into his chest, leaning his chin down in his hair. "I just _really_ don't wanna think about that," he muttered.

"Believe it or not, I'm not comfortable with the idea either," he drawled, placing his ear over Kenny's heart and taking a deep breath at the comforting reassurance of the life coursing through him. "But… it's gonna happen. Maybe not until I'm goddamn ninety, but it _will_ happen. For now, I think we need to get a plan for you to benefit, then if all goes well, when we're older we can change it for our kids to benefit instead. I'll get my dad to recommend someone to work with."

Kenny's face scrunched, "God, do we need a will, too? This adulting thing is fucking complicated."

He snorted, "We don't really have any assets, so I don't think we need to do that unless we adopt a kid or two. Then we'll need one for whoever would get guardianship over them just in case you finally hit your last number."

"Uggghhhh," he groaned, sliding down a bit and staring at the ceiling. "I just wanted to come home and have dinner. Not goddamn think about death _more_."

Kyle smiled sadly, sliding up on him and hovering over his upset expression. "I know," he whispered, kissing him briskly. "And I'm sorry," he raked his fingers slowly through thick, blonde hair. "But we've been avoiding this shit for four years. We need to buckle down and finally get everything going. Especially if we really want to pursue getting kids in here."

Kenny sighed, giving him a small nod and a tiny kiss back. "That's not how it's supposed to work, though." Kyle cocked his head and he shrugged, lazily lobbing his arms around Kyle's waist and pulling him down on top of himself. "I die. Not you."

He huffed out a small laugh, "Well, like I said: It's just precautionary. If I go, you finally have to grow up, sorry to tell ya."

He shook his head, "No. If you die, I'll just keep offing myself so I get to see you."

Kyle rolled his eyes, "I'll beat the _shit_ out of you if you pull that crap. God can watch and run a betting pool or some shit, but you aren't doin' that." Kenny grinned, blue eyes tinted with sorrow and hiding his face down in Kyle's collarbone, taking a deep breath. Kyle watched him, stroking his fingers up through his hair, feeling the hypothetical worry rushing through him. He sighed, kissing his temple and laying his head atop his husband's. "Know what I think would make you feel better?"

"You in a bubble," he muttered against his skin.

"How about, instead of that, we forego the run and just go right onto the next item on the itinerary?" He felt Kenny perk in the slightest and smirked. "After all, I think today is a good day to celebrate, hm? You can help jumpstart my metabolism _that_ way." Kenny peeked up from his neck and grinned, Kyle leaning down and taking his lips, a soft hand cupping through the patchy stubble on Kenny's chin. "How's that?" he murmured. Kenny nodded with that lively enthusiasm that so drew him in, Kyle laughing to himself as he didn't waste a beat of time, trying to rip Kyle's shirt off over his head.

Kyle glanced over towards the license set so preciously on the table, sporting a wistful smile as lips and teeth dug into his chest and neck, letting Kenny _show him_ just how much he wanted him forever here to come home to. He tilted back down, swearing to him in a bone-melting kiss that yes, he would always wait. Just so long as Kenny would never fail to come back to him.


End file.
